A Line of Light
by anyapierce
Summary: Harry's love has always aided him in the battle against Voldemort. When the tables are turned, what helps you can only hurt you. A Harry deathfic.


A Line of Light: Part One  
  
The tempest that raged on Hogwarts was similar to the tempest that had raged in Harry Potter's mind in so many ways. Harry's inner tempest had come to an abrupt halt, though, while the tempest upon Hogwarts was still going strong.  
  
Almost everyone was dead. Remus Lupin had died just after Sirius had. Hermione Granger had followed soon after. Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore were both dead. Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom had also gone on.  
  
The only seventh year Gryffindors that remained at Hogwarts were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They didn't even speak any more, they just existed. Every single Weasley save Ron and Percy had died. Ron was hollow these days; he held onto any reminder he could find of his past. He hadn't spoken a single word since his mother had died.  
  
Harry was just as bad. He didn't even have the energy to taunt Draco Malfoy anymore; he was so consumed with the nothing inside of him. And there was no escape save death. The words of the Prophecy rang in Harry's mind as he merely lived out his days.  
  
He had to be murdered or be the murderer. What was to stop Voldemort from killing him?  
  
Harry decided that it was time for him to seek out Voldemort. He needed no preparation for this moment, he was as mentally prepared as he would ever need to be.  
  
Voldemort had taken up residence at the Riddle House once again. Harry had never actually been inside the home Voldemort had been born in, yet he knew exactly where to find it.  
  
Harsh reality set in at that moment; how would he get there? He could Apparate, though he was still underage and there was a great threat of Splinching himself. Some other irrational theories floated around in his mind, but somehow, he was unable to think logically anymore.  
  
The thestrals had gone from Hogwarts and he would risk being sighted by Muggles if he rode his Firebolt. Muggles knew that witches and wizards existed now; there really was no risk in being seen by them. This was obviously the best alternative in his situation.  
  
Without really even thinking about it, he found himself upstairs in his dormitory. He pulled the broomstick out of his trunk, pulled the dormitory window open, and soared out of it.  
  
The night air was cold and stifling. Thick rain clouds wreaked their savage anger on him. Ever since the beginning of Harry's Sixth Year, the weather had been this way. He was of the mind to think that it would remain this way until Voldemort was defeated.  
  
*~*~*  
  
For what felt like hours, Harry had traveled through the rain and cold over villages and cities. He had no companion on his solitary flight, not even a bird.  
  
Relief flooded over him as he finally arrived in Little Hangleton, where the Riddle House was located. The town appeared deserted now; the trees and ivy had taken over the old houses. The cemetery was full of cracked headstones and was overgrown.  
  
The Riddle House lay straight in front of him in all of its once-glory. All that remained of it was a derelict old house whose grounds were uncared for, part of the roof had collapsed.  
  
Harry walked up the stone steps and pushed the great black door open. A cold, eerie light played wraith-like shadows across the wooden floor. As Harry stepped across the room, the floorboards creaked and groaned in a dirge-like call.  
  
Harry stepped slowly up the stairs. There was no reason to be furtive; Voldemort had already sensed Harry's presence in the house. He was waiting for Harry eagerly.  
  
As Harry looked around upstairs, he noticed that at the end of the hall, a door was slightly ajar. There was a flickering light coming from inside.  
  
As he entered the dark room, the smell of old blood and dust wafted into his nostrils. Voldemort's dark, cloaked form looked down on him. The blood- red eyes stared into the dark green ones with a look of cruel triumph.  
  
"And so, we meet again, Harry Potter," rasped the voice contemptuously.  
  
"I'm not looking for a duel, Voldemort," Harry said coldly.  
  
"Are you afraid to die, Harry Potter?" Voldemort's voice implored.  
  
"No. I would embrace death as I would an old friend," Harry stated simply.  
  
"And why is that?" Voldemort asked, though he knew the answer.  
  
"You have robbed me of all of those I loved or cared about. You have marked me. I am so very tired now. Death would be a welcome change." Harry's voice was devoid of all emotion.  
  
"You want to die, Harry Potter? I do not understand why," Voldemort said curiously.  
  
"It is because I am able to love, something that you are incapable of doing. Now that you have take away those I love, I have no reason to live." Harry's voice was flat.  
  
"You are a fool, Harry Potter. You have been weakened because of your love. Those who do not know love, as I do not, are the strong. We will prevail where others fall," Voldemort laughed harshly.  
  
"No, you are the fool. You are afraid of love and of death. That will be your downfall, Voldemort," Harry said calmly.  
  
"If you do not want to duel, why have you come here tonight?" Voldemort inquired. Again, he already knew the answer.  
  
"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to? I want you to kill me, Tom." Why Harry had used that name, he did not know. Voldemort certainly reacted to it, though not as Harry would have suspected he would.  
  
"Why do you use that name, Harry Potter? Are you afraid of calling me Lord Voldemort, like every other idiot in this country?" Voldemort asked bemusedly.  
  
"I am not afraid of you, just as I am not afraid of death," Harry said.  
  
"You and your blasted Gryffindor nonsense about bravery and fear," Voldemort glared angrily at Harry.  
  
"You are a coward, and a wasteful one at that. Why do you not kill me now, as I stand here defying you to your face?" Harry asked, a haughty edge in his voice.  
  
"I should like to see you suffer, Harry Potter."  
  
"Good. And I should like to feel the pain," Harry replied quietly.  
  
"Crucio!" Voldemort yelled. Harry did not even flinch or scream. This was not the effect Voldemort desired.  
  
"Why are you not in pain?" Voldemort asked.  
  
"So much pain you have subjected me to, so much suffering, that I no longer feel it. You cannot hurt me, you can only kill me," Harry sighed.  
  
Voldemort was done with this boy, this boy who had no weakness save for his emotions.  
  
"We could have done amazing things together, Harry Potter."  
  
"But I chose the light, Voldemort. I do not wish to kill the innocent," Harry said quietly.  
  
"Then I have no more use for you, Harry Potter, slave of your emotions."  
  
"Then kill me now, Voldemort," Harry whispered.  
  
"As you wish," Voldemort said softly, "Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A sea of green light flooded the room. Harry could feel himself detaching from his body. The whole world went black. Harry gripped the edge of darkness with a strange, fervent obsession.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, a light flickered back on. It nearly blinded Harry with its brilliance.  
  
There he was, in the Death Room in the Department of Mysteries. Straight in front of Harry stood the archway on the dais. The black veil flapped softly. He could hear voices behind it, but this time, Harry could understand their words.  
  
"Do you wish to defy the Veil of Death?" they whispered.  
  
"No, I welcome Death with open arms," Harry replied softly. He was compelled to go forward, to fall through the veil. Death stared him in the face and he just grinned back at it. 


End file.
